


Steel In Love With You (Or: Swords Just Wanna Have Fun)

by darthjamtart



Category: Enchanted Forest Chronicles - Patricia Wrede
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Extras, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:55:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthjamtart/pseuds/darthjamtart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Literally, or metaphorically?” Cimorene asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steel In Love With You (Or: Swords Just Wanna Have Fun)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_spruce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_spruce/gifts).



> Thanks to my beta, [redacted], for making the fic a million times better and the title a million times more, uh. We are probably equally to blame for the title.

“I’m going to make us a fresh pot of tea,” Alianora says, and Cimorene, nose buried in one of the larger and more esoteric tomes in Kazul’s magnificent library, hums in assent.

Some time later, Cimorene lifts her head and is absolutely certain that Alianora should have returned with the tea by now. And possibly dinner. The problem with organizing a library, Cimorene thinks, is the way every distraction seems to play funny games with time.

“Alianora?” she calls. There’s no response, so Cimorene shelves the book (properly, where anyone with common sense will be able to find it again) and heads toward the kitchen.

There are a handful of places where Alianora could have made a wrong turn and gotten lost. Cimorene picks the right one and finds Alianora in the armory, staring disconsolately at a slightly tarnished rapier in her hand.

“I know, I know,” Cimorene says, “But I wanted to organize the library before I started polishing the weaponry. It’s tarnished, yes, but still quite serviceable.”

“It’s not that,” Alianora says. She gulps, looking nervous. “I just can’t seem to put it down.”

“Literally, or metaphorically?” Cimorene asks.

“Literally,” Alianora says. She sounds a bit faint. It’s a shame, too, because _metaphorically_ is something Cimorene feels far better equipped to deal with, in this instance.

“We’ll have to ask Kazul, I suspect,” Cimorene says, after studying the rapier.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Alianora says glumly. “I suppose I’ll just have to make tea one-handed, for the time being.”

When they get back to the kitchen, Cimorene swipes a dishcloth down the length of the rapier and sets Alianora up with a cutting board and some vegetables, saying, “If you don’t want to learn how to use it for its intended purpose, you might as well be useful.” It’s not the ideal chopping situation, but Alianora succeeds admirably with only a few mangled tubers and one ruined tomato. By the time Kazul returns, Cimorene has a lovely stew prepared, and the rapier is once again clean and shiny, if still stuck to Alianora’s hand.

“Yes, I see the problem,” Kazul says, curling herself around a tureen of stew and inhaling the steam. “The rapier has bonded with her.”

“Well, yes,” Cimorene says. “That is the problem. We were wondering _why_ , and what to do about it.”

“Not physically,” Kazul says, and she makes a pleased humming noise over the stew. “This is very good, Cimorene. Emotionally.”

“What?” says Alianora.

“The rapier just wants to serve its bearer honorably,” Kazul says. “It can’t do that if it lets you drop it on the ground.”

“You mean...it would feel rejected?” Alianora hazards, looking doubtfully at the rapier.

“Maybe if you went out and stabbed someone, the rapier would feel better,” Kazul suggests.

“I’m not going to stab someone!” Alianora yelps, looking horrified at the prospect.

“Not even one of those knights that keep poking around?” Kazul says, then sighs. “Pity.”

“What if Alianora learned how to use the rapier properly?” Cimorene asks. “Would that satisfy it, do you think?”

Kazul shrugs, a languorous ripple of scales. “It can’t hurt.”

And that is how Cimorene finds herself spending an evening attempting to impart the basics of her long-ago fencing lessons to Alianora, who manages an adequate parry, a mediocre riposte, and a surprisingly perfect _prise de fer_ before the rapier assents to leave her hand.

(“Are you sure you don’t want to keep it?” Cimorene asks as Alianora is readying herself to go back to Woraug’s cave.

“No, thank you,” Alianora says, wrinkling her nose. “I think I’ll stick to unenchanted weaponry, in the future.”

“If you can find any,” Cimorene murmurs, but Alianora is already gone.)


End file.
